


Long Time No See

by the_ragnarok



Series: Happy Endings [11]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-15
Updated: 2011-01-15
Packaged: 2017-10-16 01:37:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/167033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_ragnarok/pseuds/the_ragnarok
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames suggested that Arthur go and babysit Cobb because he was an asset. Arthur went because Cobb had been a friend, once upon a time, and because he felt he owed it to Mal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Long Time No See

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place during the movie.

When Cobb asks him where he's going next, Arthur says, "Stateside," furiously running mental calculations. Eames' current job is supposed to go on for ten more days at most, and then he's back to Mombasa. Arthur can't go there at the moment, considering he's now become persona-non-grata with Cobol Engineering.

If he misses Eames' time-window in the states, though, he might have to risk it. It's not like Arthur to take stupid chances – that's usually more in Eames' style – but he hasn't seen his man in three fucking months. He's entitled to some degree of idiocy by now, surely.

Except that then they go on a plane with a man who can end Arthur's existence with more ease than Arthur can crush a cockroach, so fuck Arthur's plans. Fuck Arthur's life while you're at it, why the hell not.

Arthur stares at Cobb and tries very hard to stop wanting to strangle him.

Eames suggested that Arthur go and babysit Cobb because he was an asset. Arthur went because Cobb had been a friend, once upon a time, and because he felt he owed it to Mal. But Arthur's patience, though long, is not limitless, and Arthur is half a step away from shoving the job in Cobb's face, screaming at him until he goes hoarse, and fucking off, when an unexpected bit of history comes to bite him in the ass.

When it happens, he's in the middle of a sulk. Arthur is a grown, dignified man, and he can admit that he's sulking. After all, his partner is overseas, Arthur hasn't seen him in far too long, he's owed a vacation – a real one, not a crap one where you spend your entire time dodging assassins – several weeks of vacation. (Arthur's had too fucking many of the run-and-dodge sort. It's all Eames' fault. The bastard claims it's romantic, "Just like our honeymoon, darling," and every time Arthur has to fight the urge to kick him to death.) But of course he can't go to New York, he can't go to Mombasa, he's stuck in fucking Paris of all places. And soon he'll have to babysit Cobb's new architect.

Who then shows up, and makes Arthur grateful that his now-ingrained reaction to stressful situations is to freeze and present a poker face.

He keeps himself silent and useful as Cobb puts Ariadne under. Ariadne, Christ, Arthur hasn't seen her in years. Strange how people can just pop into one another's life like that, all over again. When she wakes up Arthur does nothing more than share useful knowledge; he maintains a distance. The second time, though, she wakes up screaming, and all right, that's it, Arthur's going to kill Cobb. Cobb really doesn't leave him any choice in the matter.

He's not mad at Cobb for hurting Ariadne. Ariadne can take care of herself, always could. But the mockery Cobb's memory has made of Mal, that makes Arthur furious. Just then, Cobb vanishes for a moment and Arthur takes the opportunity to breathe, to wonder, _What am I going to tell her?_

As it turns out, he tells her about totems. She keeps her eyes on him, apparently perfectly willing to pretend that they're strangers for the moment. He spills out data, things she's going to need, and she never once asks him _Where the hell did you disappear to for five years?_

All over the world, that's one answer. Chasing after Eames to see that he doesn't get his idiot head smashed, that's a slightly more accurate one. But Arthur doesn't say any of that, and Ariadne doesn't ask. She just looks at Arthur like she thinks he's insane. Then again, she always used to do that.

Five minutes later, for all he thinks Cobb is completely wrong about her, Arthur doesn't even disagree with him when he claims Ariadne will come back. He's too busy wanting to murder Cobb all over again, because Cobb is going to fucking goddamned Mombasa, and if Cobb's going to die in stupid, futile ways, the least he can do is let Arthur release some aggression while he's at it.

~~

God. He can't deal with Eames now. Or rather, Arthur can deal with Eames, repeatedly and happily. In fact, he's been spending truly disconcerting amounts of time recently imagining said dealing with great detail. What Arthur can't handle, after three months of stress and constant annoyance and – not to put too fine a point to it – celibacy, is holding up their usual pretense.

Jesus, Cobb just had to go and get Eames himself, didn't he? He couldn't have let Arthur go, couldn't have given them a little time to themselves so they could get the stupid sappy shit out of their systems before having to deal with the world at large.

Now Eames is going to be here, right there, for a job that might go on for months, and Arthur's not going to allow himself to so much as to look at him, because a single glance could give the game away.

Arthur wants to bury his face in his hands. Instead he sighs, and gets to work.

~~

"How well did you know her?" Ariadne says, after a short silence.

They've been talking about Mal. Well, they've been talking about impossible architecture and Mal came up. Pretty reasonable, actually.

"Well enough," Arthur says. "So if this is all understood – "

Ariadne stops. Perforce, so does Arthur, because the next step has turned into a chasm all of the sudden. He almost smiles at that. Ariadne's quick; he knew that already.

"Are you going to keep pretending you don't know me?" Ariadne asks.

Arthur winces a little. "I guess I deserve that."

She never did let him get away with anything. Yet, unexpectedly, she sighs and musses her own hair. "No, it's fine. I did the same, after all." She gives a self-deprecating little shrug: _what are you gonna do?_

"I didn't mean to," Arthur says. "I just. Uh. Do you want to match up our versions?"

Ariadne pins him with a steady gaze. "I'm not ashamed. Of anything."

Of course she isn't. "Everybody thinks I'm some sort of secret agent," Arthur offers.

She laughs at that. "Not surprising." Then she's serious again. "It's just that you tell people, and then you have to deal with the same stupid comments, over and over again – no I'm not damaged, no I'm not a slut, and fuck you, asshole."

"Not that there's anything wrong with that," Arthur deadpans.

That gets her to laugh again. Arthur smiles at her. The dream dissolves, gently, and they're back in the warehouse.

"Seriously," Ariadne continues. "If I have to explain to one more radical feminist that I wasn't raped...." She shakes her head in dismay.

Arthur knows what she means, remembers having a gun to his head and thinking _It's nothing, I can handle this. I've done this before._ Remembers waking up shuddering, months later. Not saying anything, just holding onto Eames and thinking: It's not the same at all.

There's a huge fucking difference between doing something so he could keep going to school, so he could afford a goddamned latte every now and then, and doing it when someone threatened to shoot him if he didn't. He could have dropped out of school, he could have eaten off dumpster-diving or begged in the streets. Come to it, he could've starved. That was a legitimate choice too.

Letting Eames get fatally shot wasn't.

Eames. Huh. "Cobb left to bring Eames," Arthur says. "If you want, I'll let him know we're not talking about this."

Ariadne frowned. "Well, not to Cobb, anyway." She snorted. "That guy. Talking about a need for therapy."

Arthur can only agree.

After that, pretending he doesn't know Yusuf is a piece of cake. Good thing too, since Arthur needs every mental resource at his disposal to ignore Eames.

The worst about it is that Arthur can't even be angry. They're both painfully familiar, by now, with each other's deflection mechanisms when it comes to this. So Eames realizes that Arthur, when stressed and trying not to give away the game, resorts to ignoring Eames and being snooty. And Arthur's well-used to Eames' reaction to that, which is to be as annoying as humanly possible.

Arthur's not angry about it. He can't bring himself to be. Just teeth-gritting frustrated and miserably horny.

The night before Eames leaves for Sydney, Arthur gives in to his baser urges and breaks into Eames' hotel room. It's reasonably safe – the only one who doesn't know their game is Cobb, who's at the warehouse, dreaming of something that used to be Mal.

He can hear Eames stirring as he makes his way in. Arthur doesn't bother being too quiet. It's not like he wants Eames to shoot him.

He sheds his clothes, sits on the side of the bed and runs his fingers through Eames' hair, sighing quietly. Eames is awake, Arthur can tell by his breathing, by the way he's holding himself, pretending he's still asleep.

In the dark, Arthur grins. There's a number of ways this could go, and Arthur's in favor of every single one.

He thinks of pinning Eames to the bed, explaining to him carefully how he needs to treat Arthur with better respect, making Eames come without being touched anywhere but where Arthur's holding him down.

But then Eames lunges and rolls them over, and Arthur happily lets that plan go. It was a crappy plan, anyway. Anything that involves not touching is a horrible, horrible idea right now.

"A burglar," Eames says, smiling wickedly. "In my bedroom."

"It's more likely than you'd think," Arthur says, trying to hold in a laugh.

"So it would seem." Eames moves until he's spooned up behind Arthur, holding Arthur's wrists. Arthur moves a little, testing Eames' hold for security, relaxing into the grip when it proves firm.

"You going to report me?" Arthur says. It's an effort to speak already. He just wants to close his eyes and let go, give over to Eames.

"Don't be ludicrous, pet." Eames transfers his hold so he's got Arthur's wrists in one hand. Arthur still can't break it without trying hard and God, that's hot. Eames uses his free hand to smooth Arthur's hair down. "Not when there's so many other things I could do with you."

Arthur laughs a little and says, "Specificity," more to make Eames laugh than anything else.

Instead of enumerating filthy scenarios, though, Eames leans to nose at the back of Arthur's neck and whisper, "Missed you."

"Mutual," Arthur says. He grinds into Eames then, because the sappy shit is good and fine but if Arthur doesn't come in the next twenty minutes somebody's gonna get disemboweled.

Eames' laughter is a vibration Arthur feels against his ribs. "You don't sound like you want to talk," he says, and rubs a finger against Arthur's lips.

Arthur hums an affirmative and takes the finger in. It tastes like ink, and sweat, and something chemical from the photos Eames has been handling, calluses rough against Arthur's tongue. Eames' cock would taste better. Although if this were Eames' cock Arthur couldn't bite it, softly, enjoying the pressure of flesh and bone under his teeth.

"You're going to eat me alive," Eames says. His tone isn't discouraging in the least.

Arthur makes a small protesting sound when Eames pulls his finger out but doesn't resist otherwise. Eames moves his hand to Arthur's thigh, pulling until Arthur's leg is draped over his, giving Eames plentiful access to Arthur's private parts.

When Eames' finger starts pushing into Arthur, he sighs at the burn. Then he says, "Ow."

Eames slows down, stops altogether when Arthur frowns. They've been able to make this work with spit before, but it's been three months and Arthur never got the hang of fingering himself. He gives up and says, "Aardvark. Get some lube, Eames."

He keeps his wrists crossed behind his back while Eames rummages through his pants, relieved when Eames' hand tightens around them again.

A little too tight, actually, Arthur can feel bruises starting to form. Normally this would have him hissing encouragement, but, "Careful," he says. "Don't leave marks." He wants the marks, they both do, but Arthur's going to have to fold his sleeves tomorrow while Cobb looks at him and he'd really prefer to not have anything to explain.

Eames nods against his shoulder. Arthur's a little pissed at himself for breaking the mood like that, but then Eames brushes slick fingers against Arthur's hole and everything in his brain is replaced with _oh_ and then _more_. Eames does give him more, gives him hard and fast and another finger when Arthur begs for it, scissoring inside him until Arthur wants to scream. He doesn't, though, just lets pitiful noises spill out, heavily interspersed with filthy invocations.

He doesn't recall asking Eames to fuck him, but it's not like Eames doesn't have his standing permission to do that.

One of Arthur's favorite things about monogamy is not having to bother with condoms, so he can feel Eames inside him with skin-branding clarity, feel the warm spurts as Eames comes. Arthur doesn't complain when he does, even though he's still hard and wanting. If past experience is any judge, Eames will pant for a minute or so, pull away to let Arthur lie on his back, and lick him until he comes as well.

After the requisite minute, Eames says, "Want me to keep holding you?"

Arthur shakes his head. He misses his favorite leather restraints, probably still on the dresser in their apartment in Mombasa. He wants to be confined, immobilized... but he wants Eames' hands on him more.

Eames kneels before him, lapping into Arthur. Who doesn't bother holding back, arching his spine and pushing back at Eames because: yes. Then Eames puts his hand on Arthur's cock, hot and perfect, and Arthur's orgasm has all the cumulative force of their time apart behind it.

Eames keeps licking him until Arthur shoves him off and mumbles something about getting clean. He has to get off the bed now or he'll fall asleep, and he can't. Wants to, but can't.

Arthur gets dressed with his back turned to Eames, lounging on the bed looking warm and tempting. He does bend to kiss Eames goodbye though, well and thoroughly. Eames' hands twitch once, like they want to tangle themselves in Arthur's hair, but remain still.

~~

After it's all over, Arthur goes to rent a car. He's not even surprised, arriving at his rental, to find Eames waiting for him beside it, jangling his own set of keys.

Arthur's driving, because it's his goddamned rental. Eames surrenders to this, good-natured, after only a brief glaring contest. When they've reached the first stoplight, Arthur says, "We're going on vacation."

"Where?" Eames says.

"I don't know," Arthur says. "Someplace warm where there isn't a standing warrant against you. The Seychelles?"

Eames frowns. "Wanted there."

Arthur manfully resists saying _You're wanted everywhere I am_ , and instead says, "Not if you use your Wallace passport."

Eames sulks. Arthur raises an eyebrow.

"Don't like to use Wallace," Eames says, eventually. "He's a wanker who steps out on his missus."

"Then it serves him right that you're using his identity for shits and giggles, doesn't it?" The light turns green.

There's a silence. Arthur drives, waiting patiently for Eames to spit out whatever he's working his way towards.

"Just not right, is it?" Eames says at last. "Vacationing with you and pretending to be some married fucker. Married to someone else," he clarifies and shrugs. "Might be a stupid thing, but I don't like that."

"All right, then," Arthur says. "How about Fiji?" He's grinning so wide it's a miracle his face doesn't split open.

"Fiji works," Eames says, agreeable, and – for once – waits until they're at a stoplight to kiss Arthur properly.


End file.
